And that’s the problem: because my life could be worse, and because it’s been a decent life, I’ve been fooled into thinking that my mental health has been good enough. Yes, I’ve suffered from depression since my pre-teen years; I came to understand this quite a while ago. But I told myself, it was a “shallow” depression. A not-too-bad depression. I didn’t need drugs; I was able to live my life pretty well. Depression was a problem for me, but not that bad.

I may reveal more of my own struggle in future posts; for now, this is needful. His details are not my details, however, the nut of the thing is pretty close to identical.

Suffice it to say for now that, all else being equal, T.A. is a good deal more courageous than I am, in many many ways.